


Shall I Compare Thee To A Shitty Poem

by MegaAna135



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaAna135/pseuds/MegaAna135
Summary: Lance can't write poetry, Keith can and these boys are both pining messes.





	

    Poetry was never Lance's thing. He could never wax brilliant stanzas about the world, could never create dazzling imagery with a few well placed letters. No, the most Lance could do was rhyme a bit, and even then it was never _good._ When he was seven he wrote something about his family, His mom hung it on the fridge and patted him on the back saying how proud she was. But Lance knew it was crap, he knew that the rest of his classmates had grasped the simple task of writing a seven line poem better than he had just by looking at the big red "C" scrawled across the top. But he'd smiled all gap-teeth and pretended like he was proud of it too.

    Yeah, poetry and words in general were never quite Lance's thing (much to the disbelief of anyone who'd ever known Lance, who would all disagree since he never _shut up)_. Not being able to write made Lance never _want_  to write, and for awhile he didn't.

 

Until he met Keith.

 

Keith who was unafraid of anything, the boy who flew a simulator so perfectly people had assumed he'd rigged it (He hadn't, the rumors started a full blown two month investigation and the Garrison had even made him fly three more simulators just to be sure). His horrendous out-dated hair and stupid fingerless gloves did nothing to deter Lance from the sudden desire to write a damn sonnet about how fan-freaking-tastic he was. His fingers itched to make _something_  every time the red paladin was in the same room.

 

Not that He'd ever admit that, of course.

 

You see, even though Lance _couldn't_  write poetry didn't mean he didn't _try_ to write poetry. Oh, he tried. He wasted thousands of alien trees trying to form a coherent thought about Keith but it was never right.

 

It was frustrating as hell.

 

But there was one thing the blue paladin had always been excellent at, and that was making lists. Whether it was for last minute grocery shopping his family needed or cataloging all of Pidge's equipment to make sure they had everything they needed for their latest mad science experiment, Lance was great at making lists.

 

    So when writing poetry made him want to single-handedly defeat the last level of the gladiator in the training room, Lance made a list instead. It started out with small things, tiny descriptions that ran in circles around his ever speeding brain, but snowballed into meticulously detailed accounts of things his mind had snapshotted that he wanted to commit to memory. For the purpose of never thinking about it again, of course. It's not like he actually _liked_  Keith or anything like that, it'd be insane, obviously. The only reason he wrote anything down was to find a way to beat his rival. Yup, that's it.

 

_1.) Keith takes his"coffee" (or whatever the alien goo juice equivalent is) black._

     * _Edit: It looks black but has an obscene amount of sugar in it. Never steal a sip again. Almost lost a hand and whats left of my teeth._

\---

_10.) He twiddles his thumbs(?!?)/ Fidgets with jacket sleeve when unsure._

_Ex: Hunkalove, Gremlin and I were hanging out and Keith came in got all weird (fidget thing) and apologized for "intruding." Hunk of course pulled him in and now we're all laughing about different prof. @ the Garrison.  
_

_**EDIT: Keith's smiles are deadly when directed at you._

_\---_

_23.) Keith is so good at everything, no wonder Shiro always picks him for stuff._

\---

_37.) Of course I remember, but am I going to tell that prick I got lost in his eyes because I was dying? NO IM NOT. I'd never give him the satisfaction of rubbing it in my face._

_\---_

_56.) (First and last attempt at poetry): Pink spreading like a watercolor across his cheeks when I said his bed head looked "adorable" (I WAS TEASING NO WAY IS IT ADORABLE SHUT UP.) Slight white sliver peeking out and quickly pulling seashell pink bottom lip from existence. Dark lashes fanned out when he looks down, eyes vacant(?) as if somewhere other than here._

_\---_

_65.)  Sometimes when i do something stupid he smiles. Not like a smirk, but like a real closed mouth smile. It's brief, almost like it never existed before he's glaring at me. But the glare isn't like a real one, it doesn't have any... Heat (?) in it. When i catch those smiles, it feels like he's telling me a secret._

_\---_

_80.) I don't care what Pidge says I'm NOT in love with Keith._

\---

_90.) He puts his hair up when training but today he did it just because??!?!?_

_..._

_I'm not in love with Keith._

_\---_

_95.) I think he knows im stealing gulps of his coffee, it's less sweet._

_... I am NOT in love with Keith._

_\---_

_100.) Today I heard Keith laugh for the first time. full belly, tear inducing laugh._

_..._

_I'm so screwed._

_**~~~~~~~~~** _

__

Keith had always sucked at poetry. At least, that's what he thought. He'd had countless people tell him it was great but something always kept him from believing them. Sure he could put in a few descriptors and put them to a steady rhythm, but he'd been taught poetry had rhyming in it. And Keith, well Keith couldn't rhyme for shit. So of course he was surprised when Shiro found his old notebook filled to the brim with little pieces in it and told him that his poetry was beautiful.

 

It was hard to keep a straight face, but Keith managed to. Shiro had immediately noticed his disbelief and went on to explain the different types (turns out you don't need to rhyme, go figure), even going so far as to show Keith some poetry videos he watched in his spare time. Needless to say, Keith's entire world was turned around. He looked them all up, began writing in a small leather bound journal Shiro had gifted him some Christmas he never bothered to remember but wished he did. But most of all, he kept it secret. Each new entry he held close to his chest in an inner pocket in his jacket.

 

It was no surprise that as time passed (as slowly as it did in space) his pages began to turn from emotions concerning the blank walls in the castle to his fellow paladins. But it was a surprise when most of the entries began to be about a certain blue one.

 

_\- Body limp on a cold unforgiving floor,_

_A floor i could feel wavering underneath my feet._

_Peaceful, a word I'd use to His comatose state,_

_Only a sheet of glass separating me from ..._

_From what?_

_\- Messy brown hair, a slight breeze running through it._

_Where the breeze came from, I couldn't tell you_

_All i knew were eyes like the dessert sky, so vast_

_Almost never ending,_

_Skin like the rolling sands,_

_i could feel him slipping through my fingers._

_He wouldn't remember, of course he wouldn't._

_Why would he remember boring slate grey,_

_Remember a small smile that felt like a damn bursting._

_\- Stolen sips, a domestic image I never thought I'd get to see._

_Grimace at the sweetness, a flinch away as if He'd been slapped when he caught me looking._

_Sucker punch me in the gut, it could've hurt less than the fear I saw directed at me._

_\- Adorable._

_Never a word used to describe me._

_Haughty, self-righteous, cold maybe._

_Pink rose bloom across my cheeks I hope he doesn't see,_

_doesn't see the garden being planted in my chest every time_

_Every time His attention so focused on me,_

_Why on me?_

_A mystery I wouldn't be able to solve if you paid me._

_\- Alien coffee a bit emptier than when I'd left it._

_Sneaky he must think, Still a grimace with every drink._

_I add less sugar, He must have noticed,_

_confusion like before a storm behind blown glass eyes._

_I smile a little more._

_I wonder why._

_\- His laugh will be my death._

_All sharp teeth and deeps rasps, gasping for breath._

_A blessing from whatever deity that created me._

_I say deity because there is no way chance could have produced something as_

_Beautiful as Him._

_Deep and guttural but leaving my chest speeding, light like hummingbirds_

_They fly around in my belly, swooping low._

_I know I'm fucked._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

    Lance frowned at his newly acquired stack of paper, a messy scrawl of numbers and moments with Keith across half of the pages already. How the hell did he have 230 things? How could he still be finding new faucets of that mullet-head still? He was so absorbed in his findings, he didn't notice Keith heading straight for him, head bent low scribbling in a tiny book.

 

The collision caused everything to fall to the ground, pages like shrapnel from a bomb littering the floor.

 

"Watch it Mullet!" He frantically tried to pick everything up, praying to whatever was listening that Keith couldn't read any of it.

"What is thi-" It seems the fates were against him. Lance looked up, deer caught in headlights look on his face as Keith clutched numbers 110-120 in his hand. Eyebrow raised before looking at him.

"It's not what it-" Keith smirked.

"Oh really? ' _Today Keith took off his shirt during training. Kill me.'"_  Keith lowered his voice in a poor imitation of the blue paladin, it sounded nothing like him but damn if it wasn't _sexy._ There was a hint of amusement flickering on his face, small smile tugging at the corners, Lance's mouth ran dry.

 

He huffed. "First off, I do not sound like that." He frowned picking up more pages and nervously shuffling them. "Secondly, your point? Anyone would want to kill themselves after looking at you Mr. Emo." Lance attempted to grab the sheet from Keith but despite the height difference, the shorter managed to keep it away from him.

 

"Oh yeah?" The red paladin chuckled before looking more closely at the pile in Lance's arms. "Are you making a list about me?" He asked raising an eyebrow. Heat crept up Lance's neck, hand rubbing it and clutching his work closer to him. He looked away, spotting a small book to his left. An evil smirk slowly took over Lance's face and it was the red paladin's turn to be mortified as he followed the other's gaze.

 

    In a frantic if not impressive dive, Lance managed to beat Keith to the book already haphazardly opened on a page filled with messy chaotic writing.

 

"What's this Mullet-man? A diary?" Keith sputtered and their roles reversed. The shorter leaping comedically up and down to retrieve his embarrassing journal. "Why so desperate? You writing some steamy dreams in here?" Lance waggled his eyebrows causing Keith to pout. A huff of laughter escaped Lance as he thumbed through the pages since it seemed Keith wasn't going to try anymore. Which was honestly ridiculous because he knew that Keith could actually murder him if he needed to but all he'd done was jump a bit and pout. Smug, he began reading exitedly trying to find some dirt on his rival.

 

    Only for his jaw to drop at honest to god poetry. About _Him._

_-_   _His laugh is like the tide, crashing against the walls around us._

_Eyes always searching for something in the air the rest of us would never dream of seeing._

_Oceans beneath tan sand skin and chocolate hair falling and curling so perfect._

_Im beyond fucked._

_Accepted my fate like I've accepted that every flirty remark to some alien,_

_every soft smile feels like being stuck in an airlock._

_Every night passed by a cold observation deck to see a silhouette against the stars._

_I wish i could help. Wish my words were a comfort instead of barbed wire binding him._

_wrapping around his chest and squeezing strained smiles different from the ones freely_

_given to the others._

_Who am I to wish for anything?_

_Rival._

_Selfish._

Lance looked up slowly, could feel the pinpricks behind his eyes and swallowed thickly. Keith was looking anywhere but him. Keith... he.. liked Lance? There was obvious tension in the air, a slight fear that Lance would freak out, call Keith weird. A creep. He slumped down, eyes low to the ground. But all the other felt was awe at how someone could write something so... beautiful _about him._  It was unheard of, he was the seventh wheel. Not to Keith it seemed, and Lance wanted to fix that immediately.

 

    "I can't write poetry." Keith's eyes flew up meeting a small smile. He cocked his head to the side, confusion clearly written on his face. "Like, at all. The last poem I tried to write I rhymed 'Blanket' with 'Spank it.'" That got a chuckled from him, so Lance continued like his heart wasn't beating as fast as a bullet train. "And you were so infuriating, it made me want to _do something_  about it... write something. And I'm good at making lists so... tada. Keith list." It felt like the hall was on fire as Keith stared at Lance, looking from the paper in the others arms to the one in his hands and back to Lance again. 

 

    "What I'm trying to say is," He closed his eyes, hand full of pages shooting forwards, "I like you a lot, and it seems like we've got a lot of reading to do." There was a couple beats of silence before suddenly a loud obnoxious snort accompanied by gasping laughter took its place. Lance cracked an eye open to see Keith wiping away tears from his face with one hand while the other gripped his sides. After a moment Lance joined in and soon they were both leaning against each other and the wall to keep from collapsing.

 

    When they were done, Keith grabbed the stack from Lance, as well as his hand before leading them to his room where they spent the day reading and joking about certain memories in Lance's list or a particularly breath-taking description in Keith's poetry. They couldn't tell you when words were swapped with yawns or pages for blankets, but eventually they fell asleep with pages strewn and tangled up in one another's arms. Lance's hair rustling on Keith's chest with heavy breaths. Their clothes still on which Lance would complain about all morning and Keith would just smile and scribble into his journal. 

 

Lance could never write poetry for shit, but he could make lists about how Keith mumbled in his sleep, or how on really bad days would sit with him and just hold him on the observation deck. He could write about how Keith had nightmares sometimes so Lance would sing to him.

 

He was going to need more paper.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed my third fic EVER! Love these nerds.
> 
>  
> 
> The show/characters are not mine i just like making them be in love.


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